


September Storm

by skatzaa



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Capaill Uisce, Fishing, Foals, Gen, Storms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: ivecarvedawoodenheart said: something w Brian (Carroll) and a uisce stallion or mare?He’s out on the fishing boat with his Uncle James and Rob, David Prince’s oldest son, when a storm sweeps in from the Atlantic without warning.





	September Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YourPalYourBuddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/gifts).



> I don't know anything about fishing boats or the horse foaling process. Uh, sorry for any inaccuracies but even if you point them out I'm probably not going to fix them.

****He’s out on the fishing boat with his Uncle James and Rob, David Prince’s oldest son, when a storm sweeps in from the Atlantic without warning.

        

Another wave tosses the boat like it’s nothing more than a child’s toy, salt water crashing over the hull and onto the deck. Brian stumbles and clutches the rail harder. Rain slides down his face and soaks into his clothes, and it makes it difficult to keep his grip. There’s salt in his eyes, on his tongue. It can’t cover the tang of blood coating his teeth, even as the sea tries to claw its way further onto the trawler.

Christ, is he glad Jonathan’s at home tonight. Night fishing is dangerous enough without unexpected storms to steal away his brother.

He wishes Elinor was here. His oldest sister is the best navigator on the island—or she was, before she left for the mainland. If anyone could get them out of this storm alive, it would be Elinor.

“I thought—” Rob shouts, staggering toward Brian until they’re an arm’s length from one another. The boat shudders, knocking them sideways. Rob grabs Brian’s upper arm and tries again. “I thought the storm wasn’t due until Wednesday!”

So did Brian, but obviously that’s not the case.

“We’ve got to pull in the nets!” Brian shouts back. If they haven’t been torn to shreds already, they will be as soon as the storm pushes them toward the rocky shallows on the island’s western shore. He stumbles to the aft as another wave spills up and over the rail.

Brian hits the release lever; if there’s anything left in the nets they won’t have any use for it tonight, and it’ll be easier to pull the nets in if they’re empty. Rob joins him in time to start winding the winch, which is good, because it takes both of them to pull it up.

It shouldn’t be this difficult. Even in the storm, even this close to the cliffs, even with the fact that the winch doesn’t always lock properly, it shouldn’t be this hard to—

That’s a hoof, caught in the lines.

Rob realizes it at the same time and stumbles back toward the cabin where James is wrestling with the wheel. Brian braces against the winch housing but the handle still rips itself out of his hands, the lock failing. The net drops back into the sea, the hoof disappearing with it.

It’s too early in the season for a storm this bad or a  _capall_ at all—it’s barely September and the horses shouldn’t be appearing for another month at least.

“We have to cut it loose, Rob!” Brian says, yelling to be heard over the storm. Rob doesn’t move from where he has pinned himself close to the cabin. Brian understands that Rob doesn’t like the  _capaill_ , especially after Sean’s red stallion killed his father a few years ago, but that doesn’t change that the horse needs to be cut free. But if he just cuts the net where it meets the winch, there’s no telling whether the horse will manage to free itself.

He has no love for the  _capaill_ , despite how enamored Jonathan is with them. But he won’t be responsible for leaving one to die. 

Brian grits his teeth and begins winding the winch again, wedging his hip and knee against the housing before pulling with all his might. There’s a tightness in his chest that always comes with exertion, making each breath burn, but he can’t stop. Someone has to cut that  _capall_ loose, and if Rob isn’t going to help Brian will do it himself.

Inch by inch, he pulls the tangled  _capall_ out of the ocean, until its forelegs, head, and neck are over the aft railing. It paws, trying to gain purchase on the washboard, and Brian keeps winding the winch until the horse pulls itself the rest of the way with a heaving leap. Its back hooves thud as the hit the railing before clearing it.

Brian throws himself to the side as the horse crashes onto the deck. Christ, he didn’t think this through. The  _capall’s_ tangled in the net, sure, but it’s black as pitch and in the rain it’ll be hard to track and harder to out-maneuver on a deck barely big enough for a single day’s haul.

There’s nowhere to go. The water won’t be safe; if there’s one  _capall_ , there will be more.

But the horse doesn’t lunge for Rob even though he’s in its line of sight. It may have something to do with the fact that it’s still early in the fall and the sea hasn’t driven it mad, or it may have something to do with the way the horse’s sides are heaving. Even in the dark, even with it’s blackened coat, Brian can see the way its flank trembles. 

The horse lowers itself to its knees and then onto its side, and its then that Brian realizes how distended its stomach is compared to how fine boned and slim the rest of its body is. Its tail is flipped up, and it brings back a memory Brian had forgotten until then, from when he was still in school. Back when he though Tommy Falk was the most interesting person on the island, a few years older and infinitely cooler than boys Brian’s own age.

Good-natured as he was, Tommy had allowed Brian to follow him around for an entire summer, even when he was with his own friends, namely Beech Gratton and Gabe Connolly. At that point Brian was already spending much of his time at the docks or out on the boats with his family, but that summer he learned what a horse looked like when it was about to give birth, among other, less farm-oriented, things.

“She’s foaling!” he shouts to Rob, who’s too far away for Brian to properly read his expression. “Avoid the teeth and come  _here_!”

Rob, bless him, finally listens. He works his way around the edge of the boat, staying as far from the  _capall_  as possible until he’s half hidden behind Brian’s own body. Brian turns and presses a knife into Rob’s hands, careful to wait until a relatively calm moment.

“Cut her loose,” Brian says into Rob’s ear. Rob starts back, shaking his head, so Brian grabs his arm and holds him hard. “She’s foaling, and I need to make sure everything is alright after she was tossed about by the storm and caught in our net. So I need you to  _cut her loose.”_

“But the net—”

“I don’t  _care_  about that,” Brian says. “I’ll fix it later. Just get her free.”

Rob jerks his arm out of Brian’s grasp but goes to do what he says, slipping on the deck as he tries to avoid the mare’s legs while finding the best places to cut the ropes. The rain is letting up, just a bit, and Brian is thankful. Any change in the weather will help at this point.

Brian moves to a spot where he can see what’s going on, even in the dark, which puts him dangerously close to the  _capall’s_  powerful back hooves. He tries, desperately, to remember what Tommy told him about foaling mares. Most of the time they can handle everything on their own, and once they lay down they’re close. Or maybe not? It’s been too many years, and he can’t know for sure what would be best now. He can only hope that everything is going right.

“Done,” Rob yells. Brian looks up to see him throw part of the net off the horse. There’s nothing left tangled over her shoulders or around her legs, though some is still trapped beneath her bulk. They’ll have to hope it’s enough.

When he looks back down, it’s to see the foal slip out of the mare’s body and down onto the deck, followed closely by what Brian assumes is the placenta. Columba on a November cake, that was fast. And gross. The foal starts to move around, a bit, so Brian figures everything is more or less alright. 

The  _capall_  rocks up off her side and onto her feet in one powerful movement. Brian falls backward, as far out of her reach as he can immediately manage. On the other side of the boat, Rob curses, but Brian can’t see him. The horse takes a step toward the side of the boat, where another wave crests the railing and spills onto the deck.

“Knife, Rob!” Brian shouts. Rob slides it along the deck. Brian snatches it up and cuts the umbilical cord as close to the foal’s stomach as possible. He doesn’t know why the mare didn’t bite it herself; isn’t that what horses are meant to do? Maybe  _capaill_  are different in that way. 

Then the mare leaps over the side of the hull and disappears into the ocean, leaving her baby behind.

Brian looks back down to the foal, which pulls itself up onto its tiny hooves. Christ, is this a predator thing? A sea creature thing? Brian’s never heard of a  _capall_ leaving it’s foal behind before, but then again, who’s ever even  _seen_ a foaling  _capall_  before?

Uncle James steps out of the cabin and curses. “What the bloody hell is that? Where did it come from?”

“It’s a  _capall_  foal,” Brian says. The rain has stopped already, but it’s then he realizes how calm this ocean is in comparison to ten minutes ago. They’re nearly to the quay. How long was he focused on the horse?

“What are we supposed to do with that?” James says. The foal totters toward him, legs comically long and knobbly. James steps away from it when it gets too close for his comfort. “And what happened to my nets?”

They’re hardly  _his_ nets, but it isn’t worth the fight right now.

“I say we throw it overboard,” Rob says, surly now that the danger has passed. 

“The  _capall_  was caught in the net. It gave birth when we hauled it on board by accident,” Brian says, pointedly ignoring Rob. “And it’s obvious—we’ll have to take the foal to Kendrick.”

The foal tries to turn and instead falls into a heap. It’s sort of cute, even though Brian won’t be sticking his fingers near its face any time soon. 

“No,” James says, striding back toward the cabin so he can dock the boat, “ _you’ll_ take it to Kendrick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm thinking there's going to be at least one more chapter of this, but honestly who knows? Comments and kudos are appreciated but, of course, never required.
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats


End file.
